Love, Fear, and Grief: An Observation

Sometimes, I know what I want to write about, but not what I want to write. I have a general idea in mind that eventually works itself out. This is one of those cases.

I’ve also just recently lost another grandparent. I’ve actually lost four within the past two years. That’s a lot.

I’m not really sure how it’s affected me. Truth be told, I don’t think I’m particularly good at grieving.

There are the usual feelings that play out. The sense of loss of relationship, comfort, and future experiences together. The deep sadness in realizing that I won’t be sharing new memories with this person whom I love and neither will my children. The guilt that I didn’t spend more time with them or correspond more often. The appreciation for the people they were and the life they lived. The gratitude for how they impacted my life and the examples they gave to me.

But I don’t really know what to do with it all or even if there is something I should be doing with it. I believe in heaven, that I’ll see these people again in some way, but that doesn’t change the very real fact that they are gone here and now.

Originally, I wanted to post about fear and love and how those emotions can shape our creativity. I’ll probably say more about that at another time.

However, I am now recalling again how facing death always puts matters into sharp focus for me, including those of fear and love.

I’m forced to recognize my own fears about death especially in regards to not fully living before my own time comes.

On the other hand, I see more clearly how powerful the love of one person can be: how much it impacts those around them, how it lasts even after the person is gone, how it takes on different shapes in the way it is expressed by each individual and even has a unique form within each relationship the person holds.

I’m no painter, but I’d love to see a painting that expresses that very thing.

Whether we recognize it or not in the day-to-day stuff, every life is creative and full of mystery and wonder. Sometimes, sadly, it takes the end of a thing to appreciate its beauty. Life is just that way, I suppose. A work of art is only admired after it is completed. But there’s something just as grand about the whole process leading up to it. The flourishes, the mistakes, the discoveries—all of it important.

In the end, this is my way of saying thank you to all my grandparents for the lives they lived, for the people they loved, and for being the masterpieces they are. I love you and I miss you.